


When They Were Mine

by Duck_Life



Category: Boy Meets World, Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Multi, Parenthood, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: At Christmas, Shawn gets a second chance.





	When They Were Mine

When Shawn starts spending more nights in Cory and Topanga’s bedroom than in his own, he tells Eric to take the second bedroom, tells Eric that he’ll take the pull-out couch from now on. Eric tells him thank you. He doesn’t tell him that, even when he wakes up at 4am to go to the TV station, he never sees Shawn sleeping on the pull-out. 

New York City is nice. Shawn hardly goes anywhere without his camera, even when he’s not on assignment. There are too many sights he wants to capture and keep. He shoots Cory and Topanga in Central Park, Cory and Topanga at the Statue of Liberty, Cory and Topanga at the Rockefeller Christmas tree lighting. 

He never wants to be in the photos, but Topanga takes care of that. She pulls him into frame and turns her crummy Polaroid around so she can take a picture of all three of them. It comes out kind of blurry, this photograph of Topanga sandwiched by the two men she loves. She adores it. 

Eric’s job is steady enough that he gets a place of his own. Shawn starts writing for a local magazine and Cory starts teaching as a substitute. They eat crummy Thai food every night and talk about the good and bad parts of being adults, and they try to keep their voices down so Topanga can study for her law school exams in the second bedroom, which has become Topanga’s office. 

Sometimes Cory and Shawn decide she’s studied enough, and the two of them guide her away from the textbooks and papers and they help her undress and they help her forget about writs and cases for awhile. 

After a lifetime of searching for where he’s supposed to fit, Shawn finds it. He finds it in Cory’s earnestness and Topanga’s rationality, in Cory’s goofy grin and Topanga’s sweet smile. He finds it in their king size bed, big enough for the three of them. He finds a home in between Cory and Topanga and he never wants to let it go. 

One night while Cory snoozes between them, Shawn toys with Topanga’s hair and smiles lazily at her and thinks about everything and nothing. He remembers standing at the altar with them, his arm around Cory and his eyes on Topanga looking radiant in her wedding gown. It’s like they were always meant to end up here.

* * *

 

The other shoe comes crashing down one day when Shawn comes home from an assignment and Cory and Topanga are waiting for him on the couch. “We’re pregnant,” Topanga announces with no preamble, beaming. 

Shawn has to try to keep from looking like he’s just gotten the world yanked out from under his feet. He knows what that “we” means. It means Cory and Topanga. It’s the first time in a long time that “we” has meant Cory and Topanga and only Cory and Topanga, and he feels that realization kind of settle in his gut. “Congratulations,” he croaks, trying to look normal. He coughs, gets a handle on himself. “Congratulations! Wow. Should— should we be smoking cigars or?”

“That happens in nine months, Shawnie,” Cory jokes, running around the couch to hug him. Shawn just stands there as Cory puts his arms around him, not hugging back. He’s afraid if he starts he won’t ever be able to let go. 

The next time Cory and Topanga start making out and Topanga reaches a hand out to Shawn, he backs away, tasting battery acid in the back of his throat. He makes up a photo assignment he needs to do and hightails it out of their apartment. 

He starts sleeping on the pull-out couch again. The first night he does, Topanga and Cory both give him odd looks but they don’t say anything. The next night, Topanga sits down at the edge of the mattress after he’s tucked himself into bed. “We miss you in there,” she says, fiddling with the edge of the bedsheet. “Shawn, you know I need a buffer between me and Cory’s sharp toenails,” she tries, smiling at him. 

“I’m… just tired, Topanga,” he says, which is actually true. He’s tired of getting his hopes up and then remembering that he’s still just a skinny piece of trash from Pink Flamingo. He’s tired of it all. “I sleep better by myself.” That’s a lie. 

Topanga’s eyes look sad but she just shrugs and leans forward to kiss him goodnight. Shawn turns his head at the last second so she gets his cheek and not his mouth.

* * *

 

They babyproof the apartment, covering every sharp edge in layers of rubber and plastic. The toilet has a weird latch on it now and there are little covers over all the electrical outlets. “The kid won’t even be able to walk for ages,” Shawn points out one night, laughing at the unnecessary precautions. He stops laughing abruptly when he realizes that he won’t be around to see the kid start walking. 

He needs to be gone by then. 

One night, Shawn hides from Cory and Topanga over at Eric’s apartment. Eric tries to offer him a beer, then remembers Shawn can’t drink and awkwardly hands him a plastic cup of tap water. “Thanks,” Shawn says wryly, setting the cup on the counter. “What’s going on with you? Job okay? You seeing anyone?”

“Job’s great,” Eric says. “And I see lots of people every day.” Shawn rolls his eyes. “What about you? You excited about the baby?” 

He wants to be. God, he wants to be. He wants to get excited about the adorable little onesies Cory keeps bringing home and he wants to chime in when they’re discussing baby names and he wants to help pick out the safest, most affordable stroller so they can take the baby around Central Park. “Cory and Topanga are going to make great parents,” Shawn says, taking a swig of tap water to disguise the fact that his voice is cracking. 

“Yeah,” Eric agrees, clapping him on the shoulder. “And you and me are gonna make great uncles.” 

It’s one of the hardest smiles Shawn’s ever had to fake.

* * *

 

Shawn writes. Cory teaches. Topanga somehow manages to juggle Lamaze classes with law school classes and still hold down a part-time job at a bookstore around the corner. Shawn brings her tea and pastries sometimes while she’s working and her face lights up and she tells him about the latest book of poetry the store got shipped. 

One night, Topanga’s working a later shift and Cory flops down on the pull-out couch next to Shawn. He wriggles his legs under the blankets and Shawn feels Cory’s sharp toenails scrape his ankle and he feels a sudden pang of longing. “I miss you,” Cory mumbles, snuggling in beside Shawn. He’s a little tipsy; the school librarian and her wife took him to a wine bar earlier that night to celebrate Cory taking the teacher’s certification exam. “Topanga misses you too, Shawnie.”

Shawn grits his teeth so hard he risks giving himself another tension headache. “I’m right here, Cor,” he points out. Cory leans across the blankets and kisses him, and Shawn doesn’t turn away. When they part, though, Shawn tilts his head up and kisses Cory more firmly on the forehead. 

It feels like a goodbye.

* * *

 

Two weeks before Topanga’s due date, Shawn announces his new job. “You remember that interview I had a few weeks ago?” he says. He’s standing with the kitchen table between himself and Cory and Topanga, a physical representation of the walls he’s been putting up. “They… they hired me. They want me to come write for them full-time.”

“Shawn!” Topanga gasps, clapping her hands together over her round belly. “That’s  _ wonderful _ . I’m so proud of you.”

“Way to go,” Cory says. “What’s the magazine called?”

“I-it’s a website,” Shawn stumbles, gripping the back of a chair for extra support. “It’s called ‘Hit the Road.’” He can see Cory working it out, letting the puzzle pieces click together. “It’s a travel blog.”

“A travel blog?” Cory repeats. “But—”

“Cory,” Topanga says, her voice low. 

“But how can you write for a travel blog if you stay in New York?”

“Cory,” Topanga says again, a warning. She turns back to Shawn, her bright smile pasted on. “We’re proud of you, Shawn.” 

“You’re leaving?” Cory realizes finally. “Shawnie,  _ what _ ? You can’t go!” His face twists, devastated, and Shawn remembers standing in Amy and Alan Matthews’ kitchen watching Cory try to find the words to say goodbye.

“It’s a great opportunity, Cor,” he says woodenly, still hanging onto the chair. “Remember how I never thought I’d go anywhere? I’ll get to go everywhere now, California and Canada and Florida…”

“You wanna go to Canada? We’ll go right now,” Cory says, growing a little manic. “Come on, Topanga, we’re all going to Canada.” 

“I’m going to Louisiana for my first assignment,” Shawn says. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Cory chokes out. “You’re just walking out? You couldn’t have given us a warning or something?” He’s almost yelling now.

“You two are living your lives,” Shawn says, his voice also rising. “Now it’s my turn.”

“What, we were keeping you from living your life?” Cory asks, gesturing to the apartment walls around them. “What was this? Playing house? Were you just here with us until you found somewhere better?” 

Suddenly, Topanga gasps and leans over. Cory looks from her to Shawn. “Now look! You upset Topanga.” 

“Cory,” Topanga says, grabbing at his arm. “I’m— I think I’m going into labor.” 

In the delivery room, Topanga has Cory holding one hand and Shawn holding the other. She remembers all her breathing techniques perfectly, but it doesn’t seem to make labor any easier. Shawn keeps waiting for the doctor to say that only the father can be in the room, but that never happens. He’s there the whole time, and when Cory’s hands are shaking too hard to cut the umbilical cord, Shawn does it.

* * *

 

Riley Matthews is born at 6am on December 8, 2001. She weighs seven pounds, four ounces and she’s 21 inches tall. Shawn loves her the second he lays eyes on her. 

Cory cradles his baby daughter in his arms, and seeing him react to her big brown eyes and pink, scrunched-up face is almost as precious as Riley herself. Then Cory passes the baby to Topanga and Shawn gets to see her go through the same reactions. Tiny Riley’s tiny baby hand reaches up, grasping at Topanga’s hair. 

“Hi, Riley,” Topanga whispers, quiet like she doesn’t want to hurt tiny Riley’s tiny baby ears. “I’m your mommy.” She purses her lips like she’s deciding something. “No boy is ever going to hurt you ever in your life.” Shawn grins, and Topanga turns to him, angling Riley up to see. “This is Shawn. Daddy and I love Shawn very, very much.” 

She goes to pass Riley up to him and he tries to decline but then there she is, tucked into his arms, heavier than he expected. Shawn’s always thought that people who saw any resemblance in babies to their parents were fooling themselves. Babies all look the same. 

That’s still true. Riley’s adorable, but she doesn’t look particularly like Cory or Topanga. She just looks like a baby. Still, he can tell. He can tell that she is undeniably made of Cory-and-Topanga, that she is a living, breathing, adorable reminder that he doesn’t belong here. 

He loves, loves, loves her.

He will not ruin her. 

“She’s precious,” Shawn says, passing Riley back to Cory. “Congratulations, you guys.” 

Early morning light creeps through the window blinds, and Shawn can feel his time running out. The old familiar voice in his head reminds him to run, run, run away. And Shawn kisses Topanga on the cheek and pats Cory on the shoulder, and then he walks to the door. 

“I need to go pack my stuff,” he says quietly, his hand on the doorknob, looking back at this perfect family. When he was a kid, he hated how being taken into the Matthews clan made him feel like a cuckoo in the nest. He won’t do that to the Matthews family 2.0. “I’ll see you.” He doesn’t know when. 

Shawn gets about five steps away from the hospital room before he breaks down, tipping his head back against the concrete wall and trying to choke back the sobs that threaten to crumble him. This is it. He’s been pulling himself away from them gently for nine months, but this is the last piece to go. He’s done.

* * *

 

He’s not done. Shawn goes to Louisiana and California and Canada, but he always comes back, like Cory and Topanga (and Riley, now) have some gravitational pull he can’t escape. He comes back sparingly, for short time periods, but he always comes back. 

And one time, when Shawn is back but Riley is with Amy and Alan in Philadelphia, Shawn lets himself fall right back into his place between Cory and Topanga. They tangle together in Cory and Topanga’s bed, and even as Shawn kisses a line down Cory’s chest and even as Shawn runs his hand up Topanga’s thigh, he doesn’t let himself forget that it’s still Cory and Topanga’s bed. Not Cory and Topanga and Shawn’s bed. 

Shawn’s photography portfolio fills up with beautiful locations, landscapes and waterfalls and mountains and treetops. No people, though. Never any people. He learns to be okay with that. 

He visits Cory and Topanga and Riley for Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas, and very occasionally just for the hell of it. He mostly takes the couch, but sometimes, on rare nights, he lets Cory and Topanga pull him into their bedroom and he pretends they’re all 21 again and the world is solid.

* * *

 

While he’s covering the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina, he gets a phone call from Topanga. “Hi!” she says, her voice a little too fake cheery. “How are the mountains?”

“Gorgeous,” Shawn says. He’s standing on the edge of the road, looking out at the vast expanse of trees and land laid out in front of him. “How about you? And the munchkin?”

“We’re all good,” Topanga says, her voice kind of strained. “Shawn, I’m pregnant.”

Down below, a flock of birds rises out of a tree and they all swoop off to roost somewhere else. “Congratulations,” Shawn says, his fingernails digging into his palm. This isn’t happening. He won’t let this happen. “Riley’s gonna be a great big sister.”

“Shawn.”

“I ever tell you that I had a big sister growing up?” Shawn says. He’s not even at that high of an altitude, but the air is suddenly far too thin. “Stacy. Well, she was my half-sister. Same mom, different dad.” He swallows. “We weren’t really close. Haven’t spoken in years.” One time Mr. Feeny made a point that Shawn had made his way through every obstacle life presented him. He thinks, standing there on the Blue Ridge Parkway, that maybe this is the one that finally gets him. “Riley’s gonna be a great big sister,” he says again. 

“Shawn, you’re—”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he says, realizing with a start that there are tears in his eyes. “Don’t tell me. Don’t say anything. Cory’s a good dad.”

“He is,” Topanga agrees. It sounds like she might also be crying. “He is. You could be, too.”

“No,” Shawn says. “Don’t put your kid through that.” He can be there for Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas but he can’t do this. He can be there for a night in the dark with the people he loves more than anything but he can’t let himself pretend it could ever go past that. Not again.

* * *

 

August Matthews is born at 4pm on August 28, 2009. He weighs eight pounds, three ounces and he’s 20 inches tall. Shawn is in Montana writing about a bed and breakfast the day Auggie comes into the world. 

He doesn’t meet the kid until that Thanksgiving, when he shows up at Cory and Topanga’s apartment with a store-bought pumpkin pie and a fake smile. Baby Auggie’s asleep in a bassinet in the middle of the room, and Cory motions him to be quiet.

“Hey, Shawnie,” he whispers, hugging him. “Glad you’re here.”

Shawn sets the pie on the coffee table and leans over the bassinet to get a look at the newest Matthews. “So that’s him, huh?” he says. And looking at that little scrunched up face, so much like Riley, he can’t help but smile for real. “He’s adorable.”

“Yeah,” Cory says. “Takes after his daddy.”

He says it so deliberately. Shawn tries to keep his face neutral. “Kinda full of yourself, aren’t you?” he says, avoiding Cory’s eyes. 

“I guess,” Cory says, sounding kind of disappointed. “Topanga and Riles are meeting my parents and Josh at the train station. So for now I guess it’s just you, me and Auggie.” Cory shows him baby photos and talks about Riley’s second grade teacher and how they get along. Shawn stares into the bassinet and Auggie’s sleeping face and tries to remind himself that staying away is still the right thing to do.

* * *

 

A couple months later, Shawn finds himself upstate covering a camping ground and he makes plans to meet up with Eric, who’s, apparently, doing something with Parks and Recreation now. He leads Shawn through a park and points out every bench, gazebo and topiary that he had something to do with. 

“Still a rolling stone, huh?” Eric asks him at one point, hands stuffed into his pockets as he takes in the scenery. 

“Yeah, still,” Shawn says, raising his jacket collar against the wind and wishing he’d brought a scarf. “Suits me.” 

“Hm.”

Shawn didn’t mean to say it but it just slips out; in his defense, he’s been thinking it all day. “You ever think about Tommy?”

Eric’s face lights up. “Of course,” he says. “Man, that was a good kid. Sweet kid. Yeah, I think about him a lot.”

Shawn nods, trying to act like he doesn’t have a mapped out plan for this conversation. “You let him go,” he says slowly, “because you knew he was going to a really good family that could take care of him better than you ever could.” 

“Yeah…” Eric says, confused. “You got a point, buddy?” he says. 

Shawn shrugs. “I don’t know, I was just thinking about it,” he says lamely. “I admired that, when you did it,” he says. “I thought it this really big thing to do, especially at that age. We were all idiots back then.” 

“Yeah,” Eric agrees. “It’d be different now. I’m a grown-up. If I had met Tommy today, it’d be different. Maybe I’d be able to give a kid a stable home.” 

That part surprises Shawn. It’s different, though, of course it’s different. Auggie has two parents and a stable home, and so does Riley. They aren’t missing out on anything by not having him around. And besides, Auggie’s already got the alcoholism gene from him, probably. Already screwed up because of Shawn. He doesn’t need to make it worse by getting his messed-up life tangled with the kids’ lives.

* * *

 

Auggie starts talking pretty soon, and when Shawn visits he gets to watch the kid stumble across the floor and smile his big gap-tooth smile and call him “Uncle Shawn,” and Shawn pretends everything is fine. 

Auggie has curly hair that Shawn recognizes from eleven-year-old Topanga, and he’s pleased. He hopes Auggie gets everything from Topanga.

* * *

 

It takes a couple Thanksgivings before Cory and Topanga confront Shawn. He’s sitting in the armchair, the two of them on the couch in their living room, and he feels like he’s being interrogated. By the window, little Auggie sits calmly and plays with his toy cars. Riley’s gone, ice skating with her Uncle Josh. 

“You could move back here,” Topanga says, hands wrapped around her mug of coffee a little too tightly. “We have plenty of room. And the kids would love it.” 

“I appreciate the offer,” Shawn says, not sure why he’s speaking so formal and grown-up to  _ Topanga _ of all people. “I got stuff, though. I’m in a good place with the writing right now, and I don’t need to be crashing at my friends’ place.” 

“Shawnie, we want you here,” Cory says, again with that gentle deliberateness. “We miss you. We want you to be part of the family again.” 

Shawn remembers standing in front of Alan Matthews, ridiculously drunk and depressed, and listening to Cory’s dad offer to adopt him, offer to bring him into the family officially. Shawn had turned him down. Shawn turns Cory down now. “You have a really great thing going here,” he says. “I wouldn’t mess with that.” Because that’s what happens to families when Shawn’s in them— they get messed up. They implode.

* * *

 

Shawn stays away for awhile after that Thanksgiving, fabricates an assignment in Colorado over Christmas just so he can avoid them. He does it mainly as a way to punish them for reopening old wounds, but as he sits in a crummy motel on Christmas morning, sipping weak coffee and clicking through pictures of other families’ Christmases on Facebook, he realizes he’s just punishing himself. 

He makes up for it next Christmas, plastering on a grin and telling himself he’s grown, he’s calmed down, he can visit his lifelong friends and their kids and have it not be a problem. When he pops in the door, Cory’s so engrossed in talking to Auggie and Alan that he doesn’t notice. Shawn takes the opportunity to creep around the couch and surprise Cory.

He hasn’t seen any of them since that summer, when he met up with Cory and Topanga and the kids at Niagara Falls. During that trip, he kept his distance— emotionally and physically. He spent most of it snapping photographs from a couple yards away. He can see one of them framed on a bookshelf beside the door now. 

He might have gotten through the whole holiday unscatched if it weren’t for Riley, thirteen now and eerily perceptive. She grills him on why he stays away, why he won’t even look at her. It all wears him to the bone, and as Christmas Eve winds to a close he finds himself desperate for fresh air.

Shawn leans against the fire escape of the Matthews’ apartment, hands trembling in the cold as he lights a cigarette. He never smokes around the kids, doesn’t even want Riley and Auggie smelling that on him, but tonight was tough. Especially with Riley’s friend Maya accusing him of being mean to Riley.

She wasn’t wrong. That’s the thing that really bites. He couldn’t tell her and Riley the full story, only gave them a couple pieces when they talked at the bakery. When Riley trapped him at the bay window with Cory, even then he didn’t feel like he could say what’s on his mind. That he wishes he were around more. That he longs to go back to the day he left New York and change everything. That he’s still in love with his two best friends. 

Winter wind sweeps away the smoke around his head and Shawn squints against the bitter cold. When he opens his eyes, he’s not really surprised to see who’s out there with him. “Hey, Dad.”

“Merry Christmas,” Chet Hunter says. Shawn looks back through the living room window at the clock above the oven— yep, just past midnight. Everyone in the apartment’s asleep, Riley and Auggie probably dreaming about what Santa Claus might bring. 

Does Riley even still believe in Santa? It strikes him suddenly that he doesn’t know. Because he wasn’t around. Because he left. 

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Shawn sighs, taking another puff on his cigarette. “What are you doing here? Something important about to happen?” 

“Maybe,” Chet says. “That’s up to you.” 

Shawn leans down, forearms braced against the railing. Down below, the streets are as busy as ever. Last minute Christmas shoppers bustle around, even at this hour. A group of carollers moves along the sidewalk in Victorian dress. 

“I don’t think so,” Shawn says quietly. “Too late now. I missed the chance to do something important.” 

Chet chuckles, low and rumbling like when he was alive. “C’mon, Shawn. It’s Christmas. I’m a ghost. Why’n’t you make a wish and see what happens?” 

So Shawn Hunter does something he hasn’t done in over thirteen years. He lets himself wish for something.

* * *

 

It’s December 8, 2001, and Shawn is leaning against the cool wall of the hospital hallway, trying to figure out where he’s supposed to go now. (All he knows for sure is  _ away _ , far away.) Except something stops him. 

The voice in his head that usually tells him to run, bolt, get the hell out of dodge, it isn’t saying that now. It’s saying he needs to stay. 

So Shawn doesn’t go to Louisiana. Shawn doesn’t go back to the apartment and pack his things. Instead, Shawn turns around and walks right back into the hospital room. The door swings shut behind him and Cory and Topanga look up, surprised. 

“I never had any parents,” Shawn says bluntly. It’s true, and they’ve heard this before. Cory and Topanga watch him, not really pitying, just curious. They want to hear what he has to say next. “I never had any parents,” Shawn repeats. “Birthmother left me. Stepmom left me. Dad could never stick around and then when he finally said he might try, he died. I had Feeny and Turner and your parents, Cor, but it wasn’t like any of them were  _ mine _ . I had so many almost-parents, but… but even with all that, it was like they never actually added up to even one whole parent.” 

He drags in a shaky breath, trying to get his point across, trying to say everything that he needs to say because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. “What if I didn’t move out?”

“We’d love it if you stayed, Shawn,” Topanga says automatically. “Whatever… whatever that means for you, we want you around.” 

“What if I didn’t move out and we all slept in the same bed at night again and we cooked dinners together and took Riley on walks through Central Park and our kids never, ever called me Uncle Shawn,” he says all in a rush. “A-and I know it’d be hard and it’d be different, but, God, maybe three parents just makes sense. Maybe we could make that make sense.”

Slowly, slowly, Cory passes baby Riley to Topanga and he crosses the room. He puts his arms around Shawn and kisses him softly and takes his hand and leads him back to Topanga and the baby, like a lighthouse guiding a ship back home.    
  



End file.
